Hunted
by rika08
Summary: During the Golden Age. While returning to Cair Paravel after a campaign, Peter is attacked by a renegade werewolf seeking revenge for his fallen Queen. Can anyone save Peter, or can he save himself? Warning: VIOLENT!
1. Chapter 1

Peter sighed heavily as he dismounted his trusted horse. He removed his helmet, brushing the wet strands of hair from his eyes. Perhaps it was time to trim his hair again. Peter found that in while in Narnia, his hair needed frequent cuttings in order to keep it out of his eyes.

Peter turned his head, taking in the landscape in front of him. The company was settled within a small valley. Snow covered most of the earth, but the basic shapes of trees and rocks were partially visible. The company had been travelling for several days, almost a week, after a difficult campaign in aiding a neighboring land. Now, with the campaign finished and the troops well warn, it was time to return to Cair Paravel.

"What of the sight, High King?" Oreius asked.

Peter turned to face Oreius. His eyes scanned over the edge of the valley walls. "It's well protected, and there is a nearby water source. This should do well. Though, we should send a few scouts to be sure."

Oreius nodded, holding back a smile. He pulled out his horn, giving the order to set up camp, and then trotted off to assign scouting parties. The troops all disbanded to set up their tents and prepare for the night. Peter, himself, started removing his gear and prepared his own tent.

Peter grabbed the posts for his tent from the trailing gear. He rammed the posts into the ground. The frozen ground caused Peter to use much of his strength to drive the post into the earth. Peter made sure it was firmly placed in the ground. Peter released the posts, checking its security. He knew all too well the vicious weather in Narnia. When he was convinced it was secure, Peter moved onto the next post. The cold air nipped at Peter's bare hands. In truth, he could have anyone raise his tent, but Peter was never that kind of person. King or not, he was more than capable of raising his own tent. Peter managed to set all posts into place and had started to pull the tarp over the posts when Oreius returned.

"Highness." Oreius called.

Peter turned.

"A word?"

Peter nodded. He set his gear down and followed Oreius through the camp. The walk from the camp into the forest, following a partial path. Peter kept his eyes open, despite being with Oreius, Narnia still held dangers for himself and his family.

Oreius stopped abruptly. Peter stopped as well, taking in the scenery. Oreius extended his arm, pointing toward the north ridge. Peter could make out an object on the ridge that they had not seen since they entered the valley.

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"I am unsure." Oreius answered.

Peter frowned, still looking at the ridge. "Do you think we should set up camp elsewhere, Oreius?"

"Again, your highness, I am unsure. It has given no sign of movement. Perhaps I have become anxious." Oreius said.

"We are all a little anxious." Peter replied. He tilted his head, thinking it would give him a better glance at the object."

"I felt it necessary to bring it to your attention, sire." Oreius said.

Peter nodded. "I'm glad you did. Perhaps we should place a scout on the object; merely to be sure it is nothing?"

"Understood sire." Oreius said. He bowed and started turning toward the camp.

Peter took one last look at the ridge before following Oreius back to camp.

okay, first fc in a while. i might be a little rusty

i own nothing


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Peter lay in the hammock within his tent. The wind howled outside, bringing more snow and cold. Peter listened to the wind while he lay awake. In truth, he should be resting. There would not be any more camps after tonight. The encampment would walk the full day and half the night to return to Cair Paravel the next day. Peter would need all his focus for the journey. But not for lack of trying, Peter simply couldn't get to sleep. So he lay awake in his hammock, reading over one of the letters from his sibling's in Cair Paravel.

Dear Peter,

I hope this letter finds you well on your campaign. Thing's at Cair Paravel are rather dull- not, that is not true. Things aren't the same here, Peter. We all miss you terribly. We are so worried about you.

Edmund is constantly trying to convince the healer's he is fit for battle. However any and all of his attempts end the same, and he remains here. He claims that since he too is King, he should be in the campaign with you. I think it is really because he worried about you. After all, this is the first campaign where the two of you are not together.

Susan paces about the castle, waiting for your next letter, not that I can blame her. Your letters are all that we have of your presence here. As soon as the messengers are within her sight, she calls us all together. She takes the letter and reads it to us in your room. I know you don't like us inside your chambers, but it's the only way we feel closer to you. We try to imagine that you're with us, telling us about the campaign.

I know you asked us not to worry about you, Peter, but I find myself thinking about you. The weather has shifted, and I fear that your encampment will be struck by this fierce weather. Please be safe, Peter.

With Love,

Lucy Pevensie

Peter folded the letter back up and sighed. The letter was well over two weeks old. Since then all letters had been lost in the weather. Peter placed the letter back with the remaining letters, tying them with twain. He sat up in his hammock and set the letters down beside the hammock. Peter ran his hands over his face and sighed again. He was so restless; there was no chance Peter would sleep tonight.

Peter drew back his blankets and rose from his hammock. Peter grabbed his sword its place beside his hammock and tied it to his waist. Peter pulled his boots onto his feet and stood. He pulled on his long tunic and settled it over his chest. As he reached the face of his tent, Peter grabbed his small horn. Even if he was simply walking to the stream, Peter felt it necessary to bring the horn, in case something happened.

With a deep breath, Peter ventured out of his tent. The cold air hit him quickly, but Peter exhaled slowly. The air felt refreshing against his face, cooling him. Peter walked slowly and quietly through the maze of tents. He walked outside of the camp perimeter, toward the stream. Even with little emanating from the moon, Peter managed enough to walk along the forest floor.

Peter watched everything as he walked through the forest. He kept himself alert for anything that could be in the forest. As he walked, Rhidon's weight reminded Peter of his ability through the dark. The sound of the stream caught Peter's attention. Through the darkness, Peter followed the sound. His boots crunched through the snow as he walked to the stream.

Through the moonlight, Peter watched the stream dance through snow, hopping over rocks and fallen trees. Its swift current danced flawlessly across the earth. The smell filled his lungs as he inhaled. Peter pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and he dipped his hands into the stream. The water was cold, instantly numbing. But to Peter, it felt refreshing. He cupped his hands together and brought them up to his mouth. The ice water trickled down Peter's throat sending an instantly calming sensation through Peter's body. Peter exhaled and dipped his hands into the stream again.

Once Peter had finished. He shook his hands in the air, before drying them on his pants. Peter cautiously looked around before he stood. He turned his back from the stream and began his walk back to the encampment. His hand unconsciously reached for the hilt of his sword.

A low rumbled stopped Peter in his tracks. He turned his head slowly in the direction of the rumble. The rumbled continued, low, but slowly grew louder. Peter turned completely, finding himself face to face with terror.

Crouching in front of the stream, where Peter had knelt only moments before, was a wolf. But not just any wolf. With the parting of the storm clouds, Peter had perfect illumination to the true breed of this wolf. Its fur was thick with the winter weather, dark. The snout was protruded out, baring its many sharp fangs. The eyes were paralyzing yellow, fixated on Peter. He had fought them in many battles. His heart beat grew as the werewolf growled again. Peter's fingers wrapped round the hilt of his sword.

The werewolf launched itself into the air before Peter could remove his sword from its sheath. The werewolf snarled as it pounced on Peter, knocking him backwards into the snow. The force snapped the line that held Peter's sword and horn. The sword was knocked from Peter's grasp. Peter sat up quickly, searching for the wolf. He found it circling him on all fours, still snarling.

Peter cautiously rose to his knees. The wolf snapped its jaw at the empty air, warning Peter about his movements. Peter watched the wolf circle him, only doing so to search for his sword. He found outside the wolf's circling perimeter.

The wolf growled. "I shall enjoy tearing your flesh, High King."

Peter swallowed but said nothing. He watched the animal cease moving, preparing to launch again. Peter readied himself for the attack.

The wolf snarled and leapt into the air again. Peter threw himself toward the animal, rolling beneath it completely. Peter rolled toward his sword and practically ripped the sheath off the sword. Peter managed to rise to his knees and pivot toward the wolf.

The wolf lunged at Peter, only this time; it leapt twice, angling itself at Peter's side. The wolf rammed into Peter's side, the knock the sword from Peter's hand, lost in the snow and darkness. Peter gasped as he was thrown into the snow covered ground.

Before Peter could sit up, the wolf pinned him to the ground, placing a paw into his chest. Peter felt the strength of the wolf from the paw. Its claws cut deep into Peter's tunic and chest. He winced as he felt a warm trickle soak into his tunic. The wolf leaned down toward Peter, applying greater pressure to Peter's chest. Its warm, sickening breath washed over Peter's face.

"Where's you army now?" it asked.

Peter said nothing. He stared back into the wolf's yellow eyes. He was ready for whatever would come next.

The wolf chuckled and retracted its paw. Peter had only a moment of confusion before the wolf ran its claws swiftly across Peter's chest, slicing his tunic and skin. Peter cried out in pain and the wolf leapt from Peter's body. Peter brought his right arm up to his chest. Blood seeped from the startling gash he bore, seeping between his fingers. His chest heaved painfully. Every breath Peter took caused him more pain and blood loss. Breathing became difficult for Peter, coming in short gasps. Peter grit his teeth and rolled onto his side.

The wolf was circling Peter again, laughing at the pain he'd caused the King. Peter watched the animal circling him. He needed his sword if he were to have a chance at survival. But there was no chance of him to search for his sword with this monster circling him. Peter exhaled slowly, holding the animals gaze.

Peter forced himself to his feet. His right arm was still drawn over his chest, trying to hold back the bleeding. Each movement caused him more agony. He stood tall, ready for the next assault.

The wolf chuckled and struck again. It leapt around peter several time. Peter couldn't keep his eyes on the wolf. The wolf lashed out, clawing Peter's left shoulder. Peter cried out in pain and looked at his arm. He looked around for the wolf, but he couldn't keep track of the creature. Another lash came from his leg, sending peter to his knee. Peter grit his teeth and held his leg.

Peter sat in the ground that was quickly soaking with his blood. Peter was breathing heavily. His clothes were soaked in blood. The cold washed over him, slowly paralyzing his body, attacking his exposed skin. Peter's fingers trembled with the cold and shock he was quickly succumbing to. Yet despite the pain and exposure, Peter refused to yield to his attacker. He would not yield to this creature of the night. He looked up from the ground, holding a firm, unyielding gaze with the monster.

Peter could see the pleasure within the monsters eyes. Again the wolf lunged. It leapt around Peter several times before moving into its attack. Its claws racked up the small of Peter's back, up to his shoulder. Peter screamed as the claws slashed open his back. The wolf leapt off Peter's body and began circling Peer again.

Pain shot through Peter's back and a new wave of blood emerged from him. Peter collapsed onto the ground, trying to overcome the pain washing over him. He was breathing heavily, trembling from cold and blood loss. He couldn't keep going anymore. The creature would surely slaughter him before daybreak.

_Stay strong, Son of Adam_

Peter gasped. It had been years since he heard Aslan's voice. Peter set his teeth and pushed himself up. His entire body protested against his movements, but Peter had to get up. He managed to get to his knees and meet the monsters eyes. It was then Peter saw a glint in the snow. He risked a better look; it was his horn and sword. Hope dared to fill Peter's chest.

"Now you die." The wolf growled. "It is a shame my mistress could not be here to witness this.

Peter smirked. "Your mistress is witch that met her deserved fate. As will you, foul creature."

The wolf snarled viciously at Peter and lunged. Peter rolled to his side. The wind above him wiped around as the wolf over shot him. Peter managed a great distance from the wolf. His fingers wrapped around the horn as be brought it to his lips.

Peter inhaled quickly and blew into the horn. Instantly its sound carried through the cold air, alerting Peter's encampment. But the sound was cut off as the wolf racked its claw over Peter's face. Peter cried out and was thrown onto his stomach in front of his sword. A new trickle of blood rolled down Peter's face, interfering with his eyesight. But Peter managed to see the hilt of his sword. He reached out and grabbed the hilt. The cold, heavy metal tensed his muscles as Peter tried to lift it. He struggled to his knees and readied to face the wolf.

But before Peter could turn, he felt an incredible weight pounce on his injured back. Quickly, four sets of claws embedded their way into Peter's body. Peter cried out in pain, grabbing his sword tightly. Peter could hear the loudest of the monsters howl before its jaws bit into Peter's left shoulder. Peter screamed as the wolf tried to rip his shoulder off. With his sword, Peter swung around his body and pulled the sword toward him. He felt the sword run over the wolf's side. The wolf whimpered and leapt off Peter's back.

Peter turned, placing his back toward the stream. He could see the faint light and hear the sound of hooves galloping towards them. There wasn't much time left for this wolf to kill Peter.

The wolf crouched in front of Peter, not giving up. It leapt into the air and charged Peter. Peter took a deep breath and gathered his remaining strength. The wolf leapt into the air toward Peter. Peter raised his sword, waiting for the impact of the wolf.

"HIGHNESS!"

dun dun dunnnn....don't worry, next chapters picks up where this left off. i just needed to break this up it was so long

i own nothing


	3. Chapter 3

The wolf collided with Peter's sword with incredible force. Peter and the wolf's body were thrown into the stream behind him. The current quickly swept them downstream. Peter fought against the icing current, trying to reach the surface. The water stung his body, paralyzing him with the cold. Peter pushed onward. He didn't fight this werewolf just to be defeated by this stream. He broke through the surface and gasped for air.

Peter reached out and grabbed onto the edge of the ground. He was dragged a tad loner, before his grip held firm. Peter pulled his weary body to the edge of the stream and pull himself out of the water. Peter collapsed onto the ground, heaving and shivering. The stream had washed his blood from his body, but it had also exposed him to its extreme temperature, and without any idea how far Peter was from the encampment, he would surely freeze to death.

But Peter was too exhausted, too weak now, to care. He lay in the snow, shivering and gasping for air. His body was slowly shutting down. Peter felt the world was slowly slipping through his fingers. His eyes began losing their sight. Peter fought to keep his eyes open. But they would fall all too soon and he would try again.

"_Stay strong, Peter."_ Called a warm voice.

Peter inhaled deeply and lifted his head. He looked around him. Through his blurry vision, Peter could make out a golden figure. "A-as-lan?"

"_Get up, Son of Adam."_ He called.

Peter nodded slowly. He pushed his arms against the earth and forced himself to his knees. Peter looked up to see the figure moving from him. Peter swallowed and staggered to his feet. He was slowly and staggered much as he followed the figure.

"_Come, Peter."_ He called.

Peter continued onward. His body ached and shivered, but still he pressed on. With every step came more pain, but Peter moved past it. He had to follow Aslan.

It wasn't too long before Peter's battered body had had enough. His legs gave from under him and Peter collapsed into the snow. Peter exhaled and inhaled, trying to get himself back up. But his body had been strained too much to continue further.

"_Get up Peter."_

Peter tried to rise again, but his body responded by sending waves of pain through his body. Peter groaned and collapsed again. "I can't."

"_Get up Peter."_

He tensed his muscles and tried to push himself, but collapsed again. Peter lay in the snow, breathing heavily, still trembling. "Forgive me, Aslan. I cannot go on."

Then there was nothing around Peter. No warm glow, no calming voice, nothing. Peter was left alone in the frozen forest. Peter closed his eyes and waited to fall unconscious, but he continued to linger in life. He thought of his family; Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. All back as Cair Paravel, waiting for him to return. He could see their faces break to tears and Oreius told them of his death. He could see Lucy running to Tumnas, crying in his arms. Edmund would blame himself for not being with Peter during the campaign. Susan would remain stunned. She would then be the oldest and thus, High Queen of Narnia. The rule would fall to her.

_Forgive me_. Peter thought.

Just as Peter felt himself finally slipping beyond anyone's reach, something fell over him. Peter was dragged back. Something was near him. Whatever it was, it was wrapped around his body, warming him. Peter moved slightly as he was lifted into the air. The movement sent pain shooting through his body. Peter groaned as he was moved.

"Be still High King." Came a voice. Peter knew the voice, but he was so weak, he could do nothing but do as the voice said. Peter leaned against something firm and finally drifted into darkness completely.

maybe i should've left them as one chapter? oh well

i own nothing


	4. Chapter 4

_Fangs._

_Claws._

_Blood._

_Ice._

Peter woke with a start. Peter sat up quickly. Too quickly for his body. Fire ripped through his body at his movements. Peter balled his hands into fists and eased himself back into bed. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He lay still for a few moments, breathing heavily.

"Peter?"

Peter opened his eyes. He found himself looking up at his younger brother. "Ed?"

Edmund's face relaxed and he sighed. "Gods, you had us scared there, Pete."

Peter was completely confused. Edmund was in Cair Paravel, not out with the campaign. Unless…"Where am I?"

"Home. Well, Cair Paravel. You've been here for nearly five days." Edmund explained.

"How?" Peter asked.

"Oreius." came another voice.

Ed looked up from Peter. Peter carefully turned his head toward the door. Susan was standing with Lucy, both looking relieved.

Susan continued. "He brought you back ahead of the campaign. Beaten, froze, and half-dead."

"What happened, Peter?" Lucy asked.

Peter closed his eyes, thinking back. Flashes of memories flooded back to him. The camp, the stream the werewolf. Peter inhaled slowly. "I was attacked at one of our camps."

Lucy gasped.

"It was my own fault, really. I left the safety of the camp without guards or even alerting someone I was leaving the camp for a few minutes." Peter explained.

"Unbelievable." Ed muttered.

Peter winced and forced himself to sit upright. "Enough Ed."

"Is that really wise Peter?" Susan asked.

Peter leaned forward, finally up. "Just because I was attack, Susan, do not mean I don't get restless." Peter looked himself over. There were no bandages covering his injuries, which would only suggest that Oreius had brought Peter back in time for Lucy to heal him. However, the assault had left scars over Peter's body. Fierce scars. Peter ran his right hand over his left arm. The scars were fresh, brightly vivid on his skin.

Peter then reached for the last mark the werewolf had made on him. He touched his face and searched for the scars. One ran from the left corner of his mouth down the side fo his chin. Another was to the left of his nose traveling down his cheek. The third mark was right above his eye and moved down. Peter sighed, he had never escaped any battle uninjured, but these had been the worst injuries Peter had sustained.

"All things considered, Pete, it's not as bad as it could have been." Ed said.

Peter nodded. "I know. And after what I went through, if these scars are all I have to show for it, I gladly accept them."

Ed smirked.

"Peter," Peter turned his head toward Susan. "Oreius said that he found in the forest, but you and the wolf fell into the stream. What happened?"

Peter paused ofr a moment. "I…I heard Aslan."

"What?" Lucy asked.

Peter nodded. "I…I followed Aslan form the stream. But I…I couldn't follow him and I…I collapsed."

"Oreius never mentioned Aslan, Peter." Susan said.

Peter looked up smiling. "But I know he was there."

fini! okay, bad ending, but I had a brain laspe. i didn't know how to end this.

what did you think?

i own nothing


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